


Out of the Blue

by iceberry



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6973051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceberry/pseuds/iceberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert wants this, but not here and not now. He has enough dignity left to ask for that much, at least.</p><p>(Canon divergence post s03e04. Abe shows up at the Townsend's after Anna leaves. Robert-centric.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Blue

It's about dusk when he reaches Oyster Bay. The beauty of their system is that there is little chance of suspicions being raised no matter if it is his father entering York City, or if it is Robert leaving it. All it takes is a different cue in Rivington’s paper to signal who is moving where. He’s just the owner of a coffeehouse, visiting his elderly father, the perfect cover. “Yes, injured in a fire recently, truly awful mess.” Each time he passed on this excuse to a soldier along the way he had to avoid scoffing out loud – the elder Townsend would laugh at the suggestion that he needed Robert’s concern. But it gets him through the checkpoints with little trouble and no questions asked about the letter he carries in his pocket.

Their system is indeed structured elegantly and with all cautions taken, which is why he is surprised to see a scrawny figure leaning against the frame of the new stable instead of his father’s familiar silhouette. Woodhull shouldn’t be here; the plans had been clear from the beginning that his father would always serve as the intermediator. His eyes glance around his father’s – _his,_ he can’t forget that this is his home as well – land, finding no sign of the older Townsend. Robert hesitates for a moment before spurring his horse forward. The sun is almost gone, and the light that remains casts a faint orange tint on the surprising view in front of him.

Woodhull is a mess. His woolen hat is askew, hair looking like it hasn’t been brushed in a week, there are dark circles under his eyes – quite frankly, he looks like _shite_. It’s more than just physically. Abraham seems to radiate annoyance and anger, a stark contrast to the clever idealism that he had last seen in the man (in York City, before his stint in prison), and Robert’s heart sinks for some reason he cannot pinpoint. There was a glint of excitement missing from his eyes. Woodhull meets his gaze tired and steely, and Robert raises an eyebrow as a manner of response.

“You’ve certainly looked better, Woodhull,” he comments drily.

“I could say the same for you,” Abraham replies, but there’s no real bite in it and it’s a rather awful response.

He begins dismounting before Abraham has a moment to continue and recover from that failure of a reply, ending their little staring match in the process. As he leads the horse to the stable – there’s enough of a roof on it now that it will do for the night – he brushes past the other man without glancing his way or saying anything else. He ties his horse up slowly, thinking. Certainly Woodhull’s appearance wasn’t due to his time in prison? That was over a month ago, and while Robert has heard of the horrors of the sugar house prisons, this must be different. Woodhull doesn’t look injured or malnourished; and if he had to guess, Townsend would hazard that the physical appearance was due to the other man abandoning his personal image and not due to external influences. Bag in hand, he walks out and turns to Woodhull.

“Is my father here?” The other questions he has – and he has many – can wait for a moment.

“I believe so.” The corner of Robert’s mouth turns down at the tone of the response. Just based off of his appearance, he’d expected a few things: tired, anxious, perhaps a bit worried. But he hadn’t expected Abraham to sound so blatantly… _despondent_. His expression doesn’t change but feels a twinge of concern. This is not the man Robert remembers.

“Come inside,” Robert says, and walks towards the house. He’s relieved when he hears Woodhull’s footfall behind him.

-

“How’s business?” his father asks in his usual manner. The question is pointedly directed towards him, not towards Woodhull. It is clear that his father had been aware of Abraham’s presence on their property, and it is equally clear that his father also does not know why he’s here.

Robert shrugs, barely conscious of the motions he’s moving through as he makes coffee for the three of them. The movements are ingrained in his mind now, having gone through them several times a day for the past month. “Depends on which business of mine you’re referring to,” he says, and smiles a bit when that gets a laugh out of his father. The smile disappears when turns to the table with the coffee in hand and spies Woodhull. When not looking at him, it was almost possible to forget his presence for a second. This worried him for two reasons. Primarily, the fact that Abraham Woodhull had been able to resist the urge to say whatever rubbish entered his mind for this long was so uncharacteristic of him that Townsend would have quipped that another man had taken his place had he not been so uneasy about the silence.  Secondly, the other man clearly wanted to talk to Robert without his father present; the longer Samuel stayed in the room the tenser the air feels about them.

He has no qualms about excluding his father from whatever conversation Woodhull wishes to have. His father’s involvement is more than he’d ever wanted it to be, especially since the loyalist attack that had taken their stable. His father is already too involved, and this is dangerous business – and it is _his_ business, not his family’s.

His father does not leave immediately. He drinks his coffee, makes small talk with his son about his new business interests, occasionally tries to prompt some kind of conversation with Mr. Woodhull, who wants nothing to do with it.

Soon, Robert’s patience is worn thin. Although there is still plenty coffee left in his father’s mug, he clears it from the table.

“You must be finished.”

“Thank you, Robert,” his father says, looking at him. He is a little questioning, a little annoyed, but he seems to have gotten the message and Robert feels no remorse for his lack of subtlety. “Now, I suppose it is time for me to retire.”

“Good night, father.”

Abraham offers a nod as some form of acknowledgement, and they both watch Samuel make his way up the stairs before either one makes their next move.

He pulls a chair out for himself and places his coffee on the table, but notices the dwindling fire and goes to tend to it before sitting. Poker in hand, he glances back at Woodhull, who is still sulking and silent.

“Do you care to explain why you’re here a day early?” He pushes at the coals to punctuate his impatience with the situation. The cacophony of metal as he replaces the poker in its holder almost makes him wince.

“One of our agents is gone.” Robert raises his eyebrows at that, but lets Abraham continue as he turns back to the table. “Our signaler.” Anger is seeping into his voice. Before he just sounded despondent, but it seems like recounting it has dragged up frustration.

Townsend sinks into the chair he’d pulled out across from the visitor. The sun outside has finally faded, and the room is lit merely by candlelight and the fire, which is steadily growing after his ministrations. He taps his fingers against his mug for a moment, considering how to proceed. Something about the way Abraham has avoided any direct explanation for _why_ he is missing an agent makes Robert think that Woodhull is trying to dodge implicating himself in the situation.

“And why is that?” He sips his coffee and stares straight at the spy sitting across from him. The fact of the matter is that this direct contact has put him in danger. And if his hunch that Abraham does have personal involvement in the situation being expressed to him is correct, then he certainly isn’t letting him get away without a full explanation.

“She left of her own choice.” _She_. Abraham’s wife? But no, that doesn’t seem right. “The ring was uncovered by the British Major stationed in Setauket – “

“What?” He places his coffee down, stopping the transit of the cup halfway from his mouth.

“– And Anna,” Abraham pauses for a moment to take a breath, agitation clearly beginning to overtake him. Robert tucks the name away; it’s not ringing any bells at the moment, but he feels a compulsive need to know who she is and why Abe seems so upset about this beyond the effect on the ring. “He fancied Anna, and I was able to blackmail him temporarily, but – “

“How?”

“How what?”

“What knowledge did you so hold over his head that was so powerful that a British officer was willing to pause before having you _hanged_?” Robert replies, drawling out the final word before finally bringing his cup fully to his mouth and sipping the beverage. It’s bitter.

“He was the one that signed the papers allowing me into the city. Anna planned to marry him and convince him to return to Britain because if not, I needed to get him out of the way.” Robert tilts his head at that last comment. He knows what the euphemism means, of course, but the pause comes from his own discomfort. He finds it far too easy to imagine Abraham taking that sort of action for the ring.

“Why did she care whether he lived or died?” Robert says, feeling a bit of guilt at Abe’s reaction to his blunt wording. But the expression flits over the other man’s face briefly before transforming to one of anger, and frustration. It’s not just the subtle hints Townsend has been detecting all night, but a full flare.

“I don’t know,” Abraham grits out, suddenly gripping his mug with much more intensity than before. “I sincerely wish I could tell you. His existence was – him knowing put the _both_ of us in danger, and suddenly she cared about him enough to move to Scotland!” The spy takes a sip of his drink, then puts it down with such intensity that little drops fly out and onto the otherwise spotless tablecloth.

Robert jumps a bit at the noise, but recovers quickly and scowls. “My father is trying to sleep, Mr. Woodhull.”

“She was willing to put the entire ring at risk just because one man was ‘honorable,’ and her conscience suddenly couldn’t stand for that, despite the fact that we’ve been _spying_ for over a year now!” Robert sips his coffee again. “She would marry someone – a tory officer – she didn’t even love,” Abraham practically spits out that last word; although the room is dim, a flush from anger is detectable across his cheeks. “just because she didn’t want me to kill him, thought it was for _our_ protection.”

 _Jealous_. The undertone in Woodhull’s ranting suddenly registers as something identifiable to Robert, and one piece of the puzzle falls into place. But Anna wasn’t his wife’s name, Robert knew that much about his family – _Ah._ His eyes flick up from where he’d been scrutinizing the coffee stains to meet Abraham’s, and his heart stops at the look in Abraham’s eyes. It is not the tired sadness that had been there when he first arrived at the Townsends’ home, nor is it that infuriating enthusiasm about his cause that Robert hadn’t been able to look away from back in New York. It’s raw and angry and if it’s the same look that Anna had seen, he would understand why she couldn’t stand to see Abe like this.

“Why have you come here?” Robert asks. The other man has not asked him for advice, nor for help. He’s merely… ranted, and he’s unsure what that means. Should he be honored that Woodhull came to him to tell him this? He does, a little. It feels good to know that he holds a place of importance in Woodhull’s thoughts; he cares that Woodhull thinks of him as more than just a source of information more than he’d care to explain.

“You are just as much a part of the ring, you deserve to know,” Abraham says, still sounding angry but also sounding as though he is pulling that response out of thin air.

“If you are looking for someone to take your side, and endorse your actions, I am not going to do so.” Robert realizes it’s a leap to assume that’s why he’s here, but Abe’s expression tells him that his intuition was once again right. “You seem awfully concerned with this woman’s marital prospects, despite being married already.” It is a cruel and unnecessary addendum, but it has not exactly been fair of Woodhull to come here with little reason other than to seek justification for his foolishness.

The flash of hurt in Abe’s eyes brings to mind when he mentioned Thomas in their conversation over checkers, and Robert feels a bit guilty. He _shouldn’t_ – but he does.

Abraham chooses to ignore the comment about his marriage, and Townsend suspects it is because he is aware that they both know what it is implying. He lets it go. “I thought you would understand,” Abraham says, and it is as bitter as the coffee.

“It is your own fault,” Robert says bluntly. He sees the anger flash over Abraham’s face again, which he expected. “Your jealousy got in the way of the ring, and there is no other way to express it than by pointing out that fact.”

“ _Just_ my fault?” Abraham stands angrily, and Robert grabs onto his wrist without thinking. He’s not sure if Woodhull was even planning on leaving, but the action is entirely instinctual. Abe’s skin feels hot to the touch – _Is it because of his temper? Or is this just his normal state?_ Despite all the tension of the situation, the Quaker still notes that Abraham does not even try to deny the accusation of jealousy.

“Of course it is not _just_ your fault, but do not dodge the blame you hold in the situation.”

Woodhull glares at him, and yanks his arm back. Robert does not want to let it go, for some reason he cannot fathom himself. _Do I want him to stay? Or to leave? What will he do if he leaves in this state?_

“Coming here was a mistake. Sorry to trouble you.”

The chair is pushed back, and Abraham is already halfway to the door by the time Robert stands up. The door is opened, and Abraham is already about to step out when Robert calls, “Wait,” catching up as Woodhull stops suddenly. They stand in the doorway, facing each other.

“I am sorry she left, on your behalf.” It’s the civil thing to say, even though there is no passion in the words. Truly, he wishes he could be on Abraham’s side right now, but he can’t. The man is jealous, and petty, and he’s put not only Robert but the entire ring at risk because of his own personal issues, and the worst part is that Robert still cares. And there is a corner of his mind that is inexplicably distressed by the _source_ of Abe’s jealousy.

For a moment, neither one of them look away. Abe still looks ready to bolt, almost frenzied. Robert is certain that his expression is calmer than he feels. The dim room on one side and the dark night on the other makes it feel as though the world itself is crowding in on them.

“I am sorry our first meeting since York City had to be under these circumstances.” Robert turns his head to look outside. This is not a platitude meant to soothe Abe’s wounded pride. He means it.

He feels his head turned back towards Abraham, hands cradling each side of his jaw. And then Abraham is kissing him. Robert does not react; he does not move. Because part of him knows that he wants this - has wanted this since he first saw the look – part passion, part recklessness – that arises in Abe’s eyes when he cares about something, and part of him knows that he wants that same look to be because of him. Deep down he knows that it is the reason he is at least a bit gratified that Abe has come to him, even if it has put him in danger and has, in truth, been little more than frustrated ramblings.

But he places his hands on Abraham’s chest and pushes him away (gently). Robert wants this, but not here and not now. He has enough dignity left to ask for that much, at least. He is not so foolish to not know that while maybe part of this is genuine desire and attraction, Woodhull is using him to fill a hole. _A boy playing a spy playing a man_ – it is so much like a boy, to try and heal one’s ego through something foreign and dangerous.

“Robert, I –“ His own surprise clips Abraham’s words as Robert brushes his hand across the other man’s cheek. He withdraws it quickly, and reaches into his pocket. The correspondence that was meant to have been passed on by his father has been in there the entire time. He hands it to Abraham, who looks at it without really registering what it is.

“I do hope to see you again, Woodhull. Perhaps though, it is best to stay with the proper procedure for passing along information for the time being,” he says, voice impressively calm for how loudly his pulse is beating in his ears. “Please close the door on your way out.”

He walks back inside and doesn’t turn around until he hears the door shut.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fanfic in over a year Oh Boy. sorry for any inconsistencies plot-wise and for the general historical anachronisms... i know theres a lot in here thats not confirmed show wise or even plausible but i had to get them to meet in person somehow and i started this before ep05 and samuel trying to set up his son lmao. my inspiration for this came around because honestly SOMEONE needs to tell abe what a dumbass he's being and as we've seen, robert has no qualms with telling him off. perfect! but also robert is gay and abe has emotional issues! i love this show!
> 
> any feedback would be great, esp re: characterization!! i'd love to write more of these two. also unbeta'd bc i have no friends who like this show so let me know if there's any grammatical/other kinds of errors


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